


Ya’aburnee

by drowningalaska



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, a baby sad, sorry boo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 09:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowningalaska/pseuds/drowningalaska
Summary: Ya'aburnee (يقبرني)“You bury me,” a declaration of the hope that one will die before another because of how difficult it would be to live without them.





	Ya’aburnee

2142  
Henry Ford Hospital  


  


The monitors made up a cacophony of noise in the background.  
Funny, how even with all this technology, they couldn’t manage to extend your life for more than 20-25 years.  
You turn your head gently, trying not to disrupt the oxygen mask over your face, or the myriad of catheters and wires currently plugged into you.  
  
Con sat next to your bed, in stasis mode, apparently, judging by the gentle yellow pulse of his LED.  
God, that yellow is almost as effective as Xanax now. 

After 104 years by his side, the subdued yellow colour now meant understanding. Analytical data being processed. Updates. Mischief. 

  
He is still as captivating as the first time you saw him.  
His soft brown hair was set and styled, something that he could manage to achieve every morning in a matter of seconds, despite his consternation over the stray lock that fell towards his eyes. 

A sea of freckles were strewn across his face and body.

Hidden amongst others along the region of his lower back, one could find the Star of David strewn in the speckling of spots across his skin, when studied appropriately. 

The irony was not lost upon either of you with this discovery.

A symbol best remembered for ostracising an entire people whose lives were considered less than, placed with absolute purpose on the flesh of a man meant to deliver his people back to slavery, and who in turn led his people to emancipation.

The smooth slope of his nose draws your eyes towards his mouth, and you can’t help but think wistfully back to all of the earth shaking, dream inducing, somewhat downright lecherous things he had done with those lips.  
  
For half a second, you’re transported back to your first date, and your smile is one full of serene sentimentality.  
  
_Both of you have been in the car for more than an hour now, and you’re currently on the phone to another restaurant, arguing over whether or not Connor should be allowed inside. _  
_ Even after the revolution a couple months ago, the anti android stigma is ** still ** almost sickeningly overwhelming. _  
_ In any other circumstance, you’d probably get away with it, but since Connor preferred to leave his LED on, it just exacerbated the hatred towards him. _  
  
_ “Just go fuck yourself, alright? Shove your dinner up your ass, you racist fuck” you snarl into your mobile, squeezing it tightly in your hand before you fling it across the interior of your car. _  
_ Pressing your fingertips into your temples, you groan, what a great start to what was meant to be history’s best date EVER. _  
_ “I’m sorry that I make your life difficult, detective” _  
_ It’s enough to startle you into looking up, and you’re immediately faced with Connor’s bright eyes, his brows drawn forward, despondent.. _  
  
_ He looks apologetic, and it just fuels your rage. _  
_ “You do not, and have not, made my life difficult, Connor. It’s people like THAT that do. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong at all.” _  
_ You fling your head back against the headrest, exasperated. After waiting all week for this moment, you’re not willing to pass up the opportunity for anything. _

  
_ Less than twenty minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of Detective Anderson’s house, the bottom part of your face twisting into a frown, eyebrows furrowed in rumination. _  
_ “Uh, Connor, are you sure Hank’s going to be okay with this?” _

_ For some reason, it comes out as a whisper, as if you’re a teenager sneaking around their parents house after dark. _  
  
_ For Connor, that’s probably the case. Even you aren’t sure of whatever seems to be going on between those two, but the whole thing almost exudes a familial vibe. _  
_ In truth, it was lovely. After Hank lost his son years ago it seemed that there had always been some vital aspect of his life that was missing, and you were glad that spending time with Connor seemed to soothe his age old wounds. _  


_ The door clicks open and he turns to give you a lopsided grin, taking your hand in his before you’re dragged inside, feet tripping on the entryway in his haste. _

_ Just like that, you find yourself in Hank’s house, tilting your head to read the names on the books (surprising in itself, you’d only seen ?? and DVD’s that are stacked on the shelves around the television in his lounge room. _

_ “Five Finger Death Punch… nice” you bob your head in appreciation. Old man’s got decent taste, for a part time alcoholic and full time asshole. _

_ You stroll over to a low cupboard where records are stacked up against each other and flip through them. Hank likes jazz. Flick through a couple albums…. Hanks LOVES jazz. _  
_ You spin on your heel to find Connor in the kitchen, bent over inside the pantry, digging around in what looks like a hamper at the bottom. _

_ He pops up with a bag of salt and vinegar chips and what looks to be pork crackle with a huge smile across his face. _  
_ “I’m sorry, but Hank doesn’t seem to have very much in the way of food here at the moment, but I’m sure these would be suitable for snacking during a movie, if you’re interested.” _  
_ Just like that, the whole week of terrible luck and misfortune, of pent up aggression from putting up with Gavin, the _  
_ lingering aftereffects from the blatant discrimination earlier just.. melts away. _  


_Three hours later and you find yourself curled up on the lounge, your right side pressed up against Connor’s left, watching the last scene for Fight Club on Hank’s TV unit. _  
_ The bag of crackle crinkles as you reach around in the bag whilst trying to find the perfect bite sized piece._  
_ “I also met you at a very strange time in my life, Detective” Connor whispers, his face tilted down to yours, despite his eyes never leaving the screen._  
  
_ The crackle drops from your fingers in surprise, and you turn your face up to look him in the eyes. _  
_ The way he turns his gaze to your is almost… predatory. _  
_ He’s so close you can watch his pupils dilate as you stare at each other, and not for the first time that night your eyes focus on his lips, and you unconsciously slide your tongue against your own. _

_ Connor drifts towards you, his free hand coming across to rest on your thigh as he brings his face to yours, brushing his lips against yours in the barest of touches. _  
_ The noise that leaves your throat is feral, and you grab his face with both of your hands, smashing your mouth against his in a violent mash of lips and teeth. _  
  
_ Before you know it, you’re tucked between the solid mass of Con’s chest and the cushions of the lounge, your clothes and his lying haphazardly over the room. The gentle stroke of his hand against your hair lulls you into a peaceful doze. _

  
_ However long later, you’re startled awake by Hank coming home, and a hoarse burst of “Jesus fucking CHRIST” _

  
“Always a pervert, I see”  
You bring your eyes back up to his and find yourself immediately captivated by his umber irises. They are shining with mirth, despite the droop of his mouth, and you with that this entire experience wasn’t so hard for him.  
For him, his youth will always be everlasting, and you were fast approaching what would be your final adieu.  
  
You lift your hand to your mask, watching his delicious mouth slide ever further down, and he’s frowning now.  
Fuck. The **last** thing you wanted was to cause him any more sorrow.  
You’re struggling with the elastic strap of the mask now, your hands too feeble to even slide it off your face, because, despite the importance of leaving the damn thing on, there’s something vastly more important to do.  
Silently begging him with your eyes to assist you with your task, no matter the foolishness of your actions.  
  
He stands, the brilliant green of the silk tie you had brought him for his birthday last year catching the last few rays of the sun via the window across from your bed. 

His hands, ever gentle, ease the mask off your face, revealing your withered mouth and nose to the crisp air of the room. It stinks like sterilisation, burning your nostrils and clearing your head. 

He leans down, presses his ever silky lips to yours, a soft slide that feels like his love.  
Even this close to the end, he still makes your chest seize up, still makes your insides feel like you’ve taken an oversized spoonful of hot soup.

You can’t help but be reverent of his existence, and by extension, his choice to be with you, his every devoted touch throughout a million different days and moments.  
  
  
“A-are you sure?” 

Speaking hurts your throat, and your too long disused voice rasps softly in the silence of the room. 

You have to ask though, you have to know. 

This isn’t something that he can rescind, this isn’t something that can be rectified at any time, and the thought makes you sick, it makes your innards roil with displeasure and fear.  
  
“I’ll go with you, my love, there is no doubt.”  
  
You sigh, and it comes out as a strained wheeze, the years of sneaking in a cigarette or twenty here and there caught up with you awhile ago, but you feel it now, truly feel it. 

  
You feel it in the same way you know your end has come.  
  
Connor climbs into the bed next to you, and just the motion of him gently moving you to the side makes your heart squeeze, wildly, and painfully. Everything hurts today.  
  
“My diagnostic systems tell me that you are currently experiencing systolic heart failure, and we have but a few moments left, love”

A gentle tilt of your head reveals his LED, a whirl of yellow again, and you know, undoubtedly, that he is manually overriding his system for shutdown. 

  
You mumble your acknowledgement as he slides your oxygen mask off your head entirely, dropping it onto the bed next to you as he cradles your head against his chest.  
You can hear his own bio-components begin their shutdown, the solid thump of his thirium pump beginning it’s own descent into the void.  
  
“I love you, Con”  
It leaves your lips as a sigh, and your eyes drift closed against your will.  
You’re so tired, now, and it settles in your flesh right down to your bones.  
Connor dips his chin to the top of your head, and whispers words of love into your grey hair.  
  
With your head against his warm chest, you can listen to the slowing of his heartbeat, and the tempo is pacifying.   


  
The weight of Connor’s arms around you is the last thing you experience, and he follows after you into a place you know you will have each other again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing and also everything.


End file.
